


Daughter of Skyrim

by MaevesChild



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Adultery, Dubious Consent, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-03-19
Updated: 2015-05-19
Packaged: 2018-01-16 07:38:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 19,605
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1337377
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MaevesChild/pseuds/MaevesChild
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Dragonborn is for Skyrim, but she keeps a few things for herself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. For Skyrim

Bellona rode like Mehrunes Dagon himself was behind her, the soot of burning Whiterun still staining her windburned skin. Masser and Secunda lit the night bright enough so her horse could keep its feet, so instead of sleep she urged the horse further and further until the beast finally collapsed beneath her. She could see Windhelm in the distance as the horse panted and lathered in the weeds.

She should have cared for it. If she'd been a different women, a different sort of person, she would have felt guilt as the gelding struggled to stay alive. But instead she kept moving, further forward towards the desolate walls of the Palace of the Kings. The horse was a tool; she was a tool and a weapon. She was tasked to deliver news to Windhelm. It was what she was meant to do, what she was good for. It was the only way to scrape an ounce of honor from a life lacking. The horse couldn't restore her honor – but the Jarl might.

It started to snow. The flakes melted on to Bellona's eyelashes but she only blinked them away.

This news, despite her aching muscles and despite the blood caked everywhere; this news was the first step towards true trust with the Stormcloaks. They'd see past her face now, past her clearly Imperial heritage and see the Nord within.

She'd learned to hate Whiterun as much as she hated the Legion. It was Whiterun that sent her to the dragon. It was Whiterun and Balgruuf that forced her to kill it and it was Whiterun that made the family legend a reality.

 _Dragonborn_. Just like grandfather, 10 generations back.

Until she absorbed the dragon's soul, Bellona thought it was a fiction. Just a story told by a series of unmarried women to legitimize their increasingly more illegitimate offspring.  _You aren't just the bastard of a bandit, no, no my dear. Those blue eyes; those eyes we all have? Those are his. His, Martin Septim._

Always pure drivel in her mind, but then she climbed the 7000 steps and the Greybeards said she had dragon blood. There was no getting away from it - it set her up to be the perfect pawn, for both the Legion and the Stormcloaks. Even the Thalmor would be interested, human or no. Part Imperial, part Nord with the blood of a dragon and Talos himself, whether one thought he was a god or not.

Once she realized it was true, she almost hoped the elves were right. How could a woman who survived most of her life as a bandit be worthy of the blood of a god?

She told no one, and everyone who knew was already dead. Instead, she claimed to not know why her blood was so powerful and that was enough. Being the Dragonborn was more magic than blood in the end and her own magic was enough to convince anyone who asked. Instead, she joined the Stormcloaks and threw herself against whatever Ulfric Stormcloak said she must.

He would have used her if he'd known she was a Septim. She didn't blame him for that. Ulfric was a practical man as all powerful men must be to survive. The ends justified the means if it meant Skyrim would be free. She understood that.

But Bellona didn't want to be his pawn. She wanted to be his knight and worthy of his respect.

He was magnetic, this Jarl of Windhelm. Despite his high place, his untouchable status, she saw something familiar in the edge behind his eyes. He was a killer, just like she was.

So she ran on as her horse died in the snow behind her. It seemed to always be snowing here, and the few plants the struggled up through the drifts were craggy but strong. So much like the people that lived here. She wanted to fit here, though she knew she wasn't quite so hardy as even the weeds. She was cold, and she shivered in her dented steel plate. Her feet hit the cobblestones outside Windhelm as the moons started to creep down towards the horizon in the dirty and silent hours before dawn.

Guards escorted her to the palace. She wordlessly asked for silence and they obeyed. She was the Dragonborn after all; Ulfric's  _Unblooded_. She was no longer just an odd Imperial woman with ochre hair short like a man's and swords paired on her belt.

The hall was deserted except for an elderly maid servant who quickly appeared with a towel and pointed her to the washbasin. The water was burgundy black from soot and blood when Bellona's hands and face were finally clean. Her armor was far more soiled, but despite frantic gesturing, she waved the maid away.

"Lady," she plead. "Please. The Jarl cannot see you now. Please, come and rest and the dawn will come."

Bellona shook her head. "It can't wait. The Jarl would not forgive us for making him wait."

"Even great men sleep, lady. The Jarl sleeps; you cannot..." Her trembling words cut off with an expression slightly frightened but mostly scandalized.

"Will you stop me?" Bellona asked. "Will they?" she added, gesturing to the sleepy guards at the doors.

"No lady, I won't. They won't."

Bellona nodded sharply and snapped towards the stone stairs. The Jarl slept at the top of the palace, but the barracks for his trusted were there as well. No separate quarters for Ulfric. Like his father, the great Bear of Eastmarch, he was just a soldier.

As the true high King should be.

Bellona's steel boots clicked on the stones, but no one in the adjoining rooms woke. Here in the heart of Windhelm, a Stormcloak could sleep soundly. It was the first of a new expanding space of peace for the true sons and daughters of Skyrim.

And if she, a descendant of Tiber Septim wasn't a true Nord, she didn't know who was.

The door to Ulfric's chamber was closed, but unlocked and even he did not stir right away as the door slid open on greased hinges. The fire still burned, but low, haloing the tall posts of the bed and the still form of the soon to be High King in faint orange light.

Two more soft clicking steps and the door came to a stop against the stones before the Jarl woke. He sat up slowly, no fear in his eyes. This was one place he too was safe. For now.

"What is it?" his voice was coarse with sleep. He wiped his eyes with the back of his hand. He wore a robe lined with fur and linens and little else. "Unblooded?" He sat up quickly, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. "It's done then?"

"Yes my lord," she came a knelt on the dais where the bed was perched. With no irony, she continued "We've driven the Imperials out of Whiterun."

"This is good. Very good. We now control the center. It's a powerful position. One I aim to keep." His voice was warm and merry, despite being so abruptly woken. He cocked his head and studied her for a moment in the wan light. "The thick blood of this land has seeped into your heart." He smiled. "We'll call you  _Ice-Veins_  now."

"As my lord wishes," she said. She was strong enough to keep her eyes on him. It was never easy, she always felt he would see something there she didn't want him to see. Like her grandmother always said,  _those eyes, those blue eyes, those are his, Martin._  Ah, but what did the old woman know? And who had seen a Septim in centuries except in stone statues and shrines outlawed by the White-Gold Concordat? What was left of Martin Septim himself but some fabled statue of Akatosh?

Besides, that was the least of what he might see. Worse that he saw her admiring the sharp planes of his face or the ridges of his chest just visible in the faint light. More terrifying that he see her adoration that was more than soldier to commander, more than even woman to man, but cresting into something  _more._

If Ulfric saw anything, he didn't let on.

"You don't seem the type," he said, shaking his head. "I keep expecting you to talk back like Galmar does."

"I'm adept at it," Bellona replied, perhaps too quickly. "If you'd rather."

Ulfric laughed. "Perhaps." He reached out and lifted her chin, turning her face to the side, looking less jovial. "You should see Wuunferth. You're cut."

Bellona shook her head. "Doesn't hurt. Wuunferth is not what I need." She sounded a little breathless.

She knew what she needed, with Ulfric's warm calloused fingers still lingering on her chin. His eyes were shadow dark as he inspected her wound, as if his eyes would somehow will the damage to fade.

He touched the edges of the cut and there was still no pain.

"What do you need?" he asked. There was an undercurrent to his voice she recognized, but almost wondered if she was imagining.

"Only what..." she stopped.  _Madness._  "Only what I can't have."

He raised an eyebrow, but still didn't meet her eyes. One rough finger traveled along the sharp ridge of her cheekbone, just below the cut that would be sure to scar if she didn't have it seen to. But maybe, to be truthful, she wanted this scar. To remember her victory by - to remember the look in Balgruuf's eyes when she forced his surrender, when she spit in the eye of the Legion that made her life a hell and took her family.

Bandits or not, they were her family. They didn't deserve to be slaughtered.

"So you are one of those, eh?" he asked. "Someone always wondering which new unwritten rule to break and living by instinct and hot blood?"

"Some things are just blood," she replied.

"I suppose they are, Dovakiin." She shuddered at the mention. He seemed to take her shiver as a reaction to his still roving fingers that had now crept down the side of her neck. He looked pleased and she let him have the pleasure. "I envy you in that. Perhaps High King is something another man might want, but I only desire it because...I must. Skyrim needs heroes, and there is no one else."

His eyes finally met hers with more unspoken words. Bellona's heartbeat skipped.

"Is there anything you desire for just yourself?"

He looked sad for a moment. "Peace." He sighed. "To retire from the world and be just a man." Once he was a man learning to be one that worships Kynareth with the voice. Once he learned a Thu'um as she did with the soul of a dragon. For ten years Ulfric has lived in High Hrothgar and she could see in his entire countenance that he missed that simple life. There were other, planned things from a life before politics that he seemed to miss as well. He rested the palm of his hand against the pulse in her throat. "And other things I should not take."

"Enough has already been lost to you, I think," Bellona said. "Take what is offered when you can."

"Does this mean you are offering...yourself to me?" Ulfric was blunt, but saw quickly to the heart of the matter. Bellona would have offered him anything; he already had her loyalty and her honor and her life. What was her body after all that?

She nodded.

"Shall I take then, even knowing that I can't keep it? The High King must..."

"Must not marry one with Imperial blood," she finished for him. "But even Martin Septim wasn't the Empress' son." She was mad to invoke him.  _Akatosh, Talos; what did they think? Would they frown and intervene?_  The heat of battle was still coursing through her, despite the distance she'd traveled. It made her bold.

Ulfric seemed to consider for a moment.

"Close the door," The Jarl commanded, and Ice-Veins, she obeyed.

* * *

Ulfric made his way to the fire, and fed new logs that caught quickly in the embers. The light increased and Bellona could see his face in the orange glow even from the door. It closed behind her and she slipped the bolt into place. Safe from assassins, yes, but not from gossip. Soldiers were worse than any fishwife.

The fur mantle slipped from his shoulders on to the floor as he gestured to her. She made her way to him, her heart hammering in her chest. She wondered how she could desire something she'd never before tasted with such a fierceness. It had been that way from that first moment in Helgen, as soon as the gag had been cut away and she heard the purr of his voice. Even with her hands still bound and the dragon screaming fire, she saw something more than just the Jarl of Windhelm. Even then she saw the man underneath and with the ghost of the headman's axe still lingering on her throat, she already belonged to Ulfric and his cause. And now perhaps, she could belong to the man as well.

Wordlessly he reached out with practiced fingers, started to unbuckle straps of her armor to find the flesh underneath.

"Never was one for plate," he said, as he dropped pieces of filthy steel on the floor. The noise clattered distinctively. Bellona tried to pull away; she could remove her armor herself. It made him subservient to help her and she tried to wave him away. The High King shouldn't, nay  _couldn't,_  bow to commoner and an Imperial, no matter what the circumstance. He seemed to disagree and stopped her. "Always prefered steel chain. Even now." His hands were insistent, even if his words did not match.

She complied with her Jarl's wishes.

As each piece of armor hit the floor, she felt warmer which was not as it should be. Plate was hot, dreadfully hot, but there was no relief without it here. The fire was warm, truly, but Bellona knew this fire was coming from within. Finally, her gambison slipped over her head and she stood in only smallclothes and firelight.

He inspected her carefully, mindful of the places where the plate has bruised her. It wasn't a good fit, this armor scrounged from the dead.

"Perhaps you need to see the smith," he said, his voice as conversational as if they were in the hall, not nearly undone in the privacy of his chamber. "Oengul could fashion you something that fits." He patted absently at a spot rubbed red and raw on her waist as if she was a horse. It took only a moment before his fingers began to roam with different intention, sliding up around the curve of her ribs and the ropy muscle along her spine.

Ulfric stepped back, assessed her further. He reached into the washbasin and moistened a square of linen to bring against her neck. The water was as cold as the blizzard raging just beyond the leaded window. Gooseflesh raised across Bellona's body. Her nipples tightened and pressed hard against the rough cloth of their bindings. A pulse of heat echoed elsewhere.

He moved the rag along her collarbones and down between her breasts, wiping away sweat and soot and inhibitions alike.

"I know what fits," she said, taking initiative and moving closer. The movement trapped his hand in the cleavage between her breasts and against the soft skin there. "And its not my armor. It's this. This life, this land, this cause. Your cause. _"_  She paused as she wove her fingers into the thickness of the hair on the back of his head. His hand slipped lower, pulling down the last of the fabric covering her, dropping the damp cloth. His sword calloused hand cupped her, his fingers pressing into liquid, pliable flesh.

" _You_  fit, my Jarl," her voice was hardly a whisper. "I would kill them all, if you only asked." It was melodramatic, but her head was swimming and at that moment it was true.

Ulfric leaned forward and nipped at her neck. His lips moved against her pulse. "I hardly expect you to drive the Empire from Skyrim single handed."

"I would, if only you would ask," she replied, her head falling back. She leaned forward, pressing the length of her body against him. Bellona was tall, and they fit together perfectly. She felt the ridge of his erection.

His mouth moved along the edge of her jaw. His hips ground against hers. "I believe you." His fingers tugged at her smallclothes, tearing the much laundered fabric until scraps fluttered to the floor.

She groaned and ran her hands along the small of his back. She let him push her up the two stairs of the dais until she fell back on to the sturdy straw of the bed. He slipped his trews from his hips before following. Ulfric was hovering over her then, levered on his arms. The fire haloed his hair. His hips moved forward without hesitation. His cock slid inside her smoothly, as if they were practiced lovers.

His eyes closed at the sensation, but then opened to smile at her.

"We fit," he said. Bellona hands grasped him tightly. Urged him to move. He began a rhythm, slow at first but steady. She arched to her back up to meet his thrusts. She closed her eyes.

"One thing," he said, his hips started to move faster; the heavy muscles in his thighs pushed relentlessly. "This one thing for me, and for you. And everything else, for Skyrim."

"For Skyrim," she echoed.

He couldn't speak anymore then, his voice lost in his pleasure. Perhaps he feared his own voice. The Greybeards would have taught him that, yet he wouldn't know that she was the one person in all of Skyrim who his voice couldn't harm.

"For you," she said, meeting his harder movements with her own, her short fingernails digging into the meat of his back, sliding down the firmness of his ass and pushing him into her. Harder. More.

"Ulfric," she groaned his name and he lost his control, but it was only a man's voice shouting at her as he rode out his pleasure. She felt him come, felt him pulse inside her.

Not wise maybe, such a risky thing to do, but passion overrode sense.

"If only," he breathed against her neck. She felt him shake his head, the sweat on his brow damp on her cheek. "But no, this is not something we can have where anyone can see. No matter what I might want."

"No one needs know, my lord," Bellona whispered in reply. "I am for you; Bellona is for you, not for Skyrim. But Ice-Veins will still be yours to command."

"As long as we can remember the difference," he said, sliding his weight off her and pulling her against his chest.

They both knew they shouldn't sleep, shouldn't take the chance that anyone would see her leave. But neither could leave. They both hoped the passion would fade as the sweat dried, but something else took its place and kept them entwined together. They slept for the few hours until dawn awoke them.

As the sunlight pestered its way through the heavy curtains, Bellona kissed Ulfric. After that, Ice-Veins dressed herself and left with orders to secure the Reach.

 


	2. For Sanguine

This time, she barreled into the throne room in broad, brilliant daylight. The sun was streaming through the leaded glass panels flanking the stone chair where Ulfric sat conferring with his steward. She'd taken careful effort to clean and prepare herself, vanity perhaps, but her pounding heart insisted on it. Her new Orcish armor fit perfectly and gleamed as much as that rough material could. Her gold hair had grown a little and strands hung in her eyes. Normally, she would have hacked them away in the field, but the memory of Ulfric's hand feathering through her hair gave her pause.

Bellona was proud. The Reach had fallen like autumn's leaves; the Forsworn had perished in droves in the name of the Jarl of Windhelm and corruption had been routed from the heart of Markarth like a worm from an apple.

"The Reach is yours, my lord," she said grandly as she reached his feet. "Markarth has fallen to the Stormcloaks." She knelt with a flourish and looked up at him expectantly.

"You need to get married," Ulfric blurted out as a reply.

"What?" Bellona heard her voice ask incredulously before she could stop herself.

"Jorleif has brought to my attention that there are... _rumors_  that need to be silenced," he explained with a blandness that chilled her blood. "I cannot have my honor, nor yours for that matter, be questioned before the Moot. Despite your victories, and I do recognize them, if you are to continue to be my champion, your honor must be flawless. A husband will quiet the hounds."

"But my lord, I...," she was at a loss for words. She simply stared up at him with wide, uncomprehending eyes.

His expression didn't falter, didn't flinch. She thirsted for some flicker of emotion, some quick revelation in his face that would belie the cold hardness of his eyes and the rigid set of his brow, but there was nothing. His face was a impassive as a mountain.

"Rest yourself for a while, Ice-Veins," he said casually, dismissing her with a wave of his hand. "You have done well, but there is much still to be done and plans to discuss before I can send you to deal the final blow to the Empire. I will speak with you after the evening meal. Meet me in the war room to receive your orders."

"I...yes, my lord," she said quickly, composing herself and pulling a mask of apathy over the shocked expression she wore. "It is as you say."

"As it should be."

He turned his face away without even a flash from his eyes and and she spun away before her equanimity failed. She marched from the throne room with as much dignity as she could muster, straining herself to not hear the murmurs and whispers as she passed.

* * *

The hours from that moment until what little food she could stomach sat in her belly like a stone were long and filled with recriminations.

Bellona didn't know what she'd expected from Ulfric, but it hadn't been that. He'd always been free with praise before; before she bedded him. She didn't see how her contribution to the cause was lessened...unless his affection afterwards had been a mistake?

She had a young woman's flighty thoughts running through her head. She tried to fight them but they didn't respond to sword or spell, and those were the only weapons she had. Bellona was no maiden; she'd sold that virtue long ago and she had no delusions of romance. She hardly expected declarations of love and never-ending devotion. But she hadn't expected the icy reception she received along with a demand that she run off and jump into bed with another man.

She knew she should have expected it. Skyrim was a land of ice and bluster and the Nord men were no different: Cold and stormy and sometimes, the men froze you to the bone worse than any blizzard. Bellona wavered between yearning for him and yearning to break his nose.

Then he sauntered in like a stag as if there was no ice dividing them.

"Bellona." His voice rolled over her like distant thunder. He wore a smirk on his infuriatingly handsome face. She still wanted to punch him but she was certainly not the first with such an urge. His nose had clearly been broken before but he wore it proudly. She wasn't sure it would bother him if she broke if again.

"My lord," she replied perfunctorily, making sure to keep the map table carefully between them. Ulfric frowned and shook his head at her chilly demeanor.

"I thought you were made of sterner stuff than this, Stormblade," he muttered.

"Stormblade?" she asked. It was a new title he hadn't offered her before.

"Aye," he said, matter-of-fact. "Oengul finished your new blade a fortnight ago and Wuunfurth is adding enchantments as we speak. Ice and Lightning on ebony; a sword fit for a champion. A beautiful and deadly weapon...just like you." He looked a bit sheepish at that.

A tiny smile cracked the corner of her mouth despite the battle she fought against it. She growled a little under her breath, not sure whether she was still more angry with him or with herself for being so easily charmed.

"Be that as it may," she said, quickly squelching the merriment threatening in her expression and trying to match the icy tone he'd offered her earlier. "It is not what I wish to...question my Jarl about."

He sighed and ran a hand through his hair.

"I suppose not," he said. "Too hardheaded to let that go. I should have expected as much."

"So I'm just to  _let it go_  until after we rut on the table and then ask questions later?" Her reply was quick and vulgar.

He chuckled. "A man can hope."

Bellona crossed her arms across her chest, the metal of her vambraces chinking against her cuirass. She still wore her armor though she'd carefully removed her gauntlets so her hands wouldn't sweat. She couldn't bare to remove her cuirass; her heart felt like it needed protection.

"What I said was true," he explained, suddenly serious again. "There are rumors. Quite vivid ones, in fact. Apparently we were more  _vigorous_  than we realized during your last stay. It does wonders for my reputation amongst my men, but I rather doubt the other Jarls would see it in such a manner." He shook his head. "I didn't think it would need to be said that I need to be free of complications to allow for possible political alliances."

"It does not need to be said," she snapped back, her frustration showing. "But I don't see what in the name of Talos that has to do with me getting married!"

"There is nothing else that will end the chatter." His brow was furrowed. "Anything I say or you say will just encourage the beasts. Rumors are like giants; they are harmless unless you provoke them, but once they are charging? The only option then is to kill or be killed. I can see no other way."

"I...," Bellona tried to begin but it rolled over her.  _He was right._   _Talos damn him to the pits of Oblivion but he was always right._

"I don't like it either," he said, quickly circumnavigating the table and placing his hands on the scale mail above her elbows and below the ornate spaulders of her armor. At first his grip was gentle and hardly noticeable through the flexible metal scales but as he stared at her, his shadowed green eyes boring into hers, his fingers tightened until they were biting into her skin. The leather backing creaked in protest.

"I not only don't  _like_  it," he continued. "I  _despise_  it. The idea of another man touching you makes me sick." His eyes glittered feverishly.

Bellona tried to pull her arms free. She had no desire to get away from him; if anything she wanted to be able to move closer, to throw her arms around his waist and profess that she felt the same. She was a powerful woman but his hands held fast. She jerked her arm forward and the only result was one of the scales on her armor slicing through the leather and biting into her skin.

"Ulfric," she said, swallowing. "You're hurting me." The double meaning hung in the air between them.

_My arm is bleeding; you're breaking my heart._

"I know," he said, perversely squeezing his fingers tighter. By now, Bellona could feel the sticky dampness of blood. "But I can't help it."

Any earlier levity had evaporated into this moment. It always came down to this between them. Perhaps they loved those jovial moments of victory and joy snatched between battles but in the end they were dark creatures both. There was no escaping their primal natures.

"I love you," she admitted finally and without a word, he crushed her against him, kissing her hard enough to cut her lips on his teeth. His beard felt like coarse wires against her face.

There was no door on the war room so he pulled away quickly, trying to avoid fueling more rumors. There was a sheen of blood glistening on his lips. He reluctantly released his grip on her arms and she reached up and wiped her blood from his lip with her thumb. Bellona popped her thumb into her mouth.

Ulfric watched her with great interest as she pulled her thumb back out of her mouth with agonizing slowness, dragging it against lips shiny with the moisture from her tongue.

"By the Nine, woman," he swore at her.

She smiled around the tip of her thumb giddy with the power of her seduction. He cleared his throat and abruptly turned to the map on the table just as Yrsarald Thrice-Pierced appeared. He was frequently present at these briefings and Bellona knew it was as much for his participation as his skills as a chaperone. Ulfric told her once that he valued the man's analytical mind and his bloodthirsty hatred of the Empire equally, but she knew it was more about having a warm body in the room to prevent the distraction of being alone together. Bellona wished for a perverse moment that he was unmarried so she could have him and flaunt it in front of Ulfric. But no, the man was married and more than that, the whole point of marrying was to be able to continue living as they truly wanted to.

If Ulfric's feelings as a man didn't matter to her, she would have just walked away. His cause was important. The destruction of the Empire was important, but was it enough to tie herself to someone, perhaps someone just for the sake of doing it, to silence the jackals? It wouldn't have been enough. The Jarl of Windhelm was not enough, nor was the High King of Skyrim. But Ulfric?

Ulfric was enough.

"My Jarl," Yrsarald said in greeting. "Ice-Veins." There was a hint of a chuckle in his strong Nordic accent.

Ulfric narrowed his eyes at the man. "She is now called Stormblade, Commander, to show her love our love and honor for her great victory in the Reach." Yrsarald didn't manage to stop the little bark of a laugh that escaped him at Ulfric's mention of love.

Growling,  _Ulfric_  disappeared replaced by the far more immense and powerful High King of Skyrim. "Is there a problem?"

Yrsarald's expression went as sober as a priest. "No, my lord. Forgive me, I meant no disrespect."

Ulfric nodded harshly. "See that you keep it that way. Now," he continued as if nothing had occurred and all was business as usual. "As we discussed, we are here to see that Solitude falls. It is the only remaining foothold the Empire has left. There are a few targets before we take the city, and some delays to contend with. And, Stormblade is getting married soon, isn't that right?" his voice was direct but conversational.

_That bastard._

"That's right," Bellona replied, matching his tone despite the sudden urge to strangle him. Nothing like giving her a chance to actually find someone she might be interested in marrying. Even if they lived as so many other powerful people have, with a personal life disconnected from their official capacities, she was still going to have to share a home and a bed with this husband sometimes.

"Who's the lucky man?" Yrsarald asked. It was a perfectly legitimate question. It was a question she had no idea how to answer.

"That's between Stormblade and Mara for now, Yrsarald," Ulfric intervened. It was a ridiculous assertion, but who was going to argue with him? Instead, he turned the conversation back to the plans for the taking of Solitude until Yrsarald's eyes glazed over and he made an excuse to leave.

When he finally disappeared through the door and his footsteps through the throne room faded away, Bellona spun on Ulfric and pinned him against the wall. She hadn't forgotten the awkward position he put her in, despite hours of tactics and troop deployment decisions.

"Between Mara and me, is it?" she said, pressing her arm against his throat. It was like she'd forgotten he was the true High King of Skyrim, and instead he was just an unruly lover. She refused to let the little voice in the back of her head control her actions, the one shrieking about station and  _appropriate respect._ It was probably smarter than she was as she pressed her forearm more firmly against his windpipe.

His eyes shone with arousal. It thrilled her when he swallowed hard and she felt his throat move.

"Yes," he croaked. "And this is between us and Dibella."

Bellona leaned back a little, releasing the pressure, but not moving her arm. Ulfric took a breath.

"Ha," she spat at him, her lips nearly touching his face. "Dibella be damned. This is the worship of Sanguine."

He looked mildly horrified by that, though not enough to unman him. He was a good dutiful Nord, even if he'd bent half of Windhelm's wenches and widows over a table at one point or another. Daedra worship was apparently a step further than he'd gone before.

"Trust me," Bellona whispered, flicking the tip of her tongue against his bottom lip and reveling in the sharp intake of his breath and the involuntary tension that sprung up along the length of his body. "I've met him, and he's a sick bastard. He'd enjoy this little mess immensely."

Ulfric's eyebrows drew together. "I didn't know you worshiped the Daedra." His voice shook a little. Like the good Talos fearing Nord he was, the Daedra appropriately frightened him. Didn't matter how much blood a man had spilled, he still feared the unknown.

Bellona grinned. "I met him in a tavern as only a man," she purred wickedly, relishing the scent of Ulfric's discontent and the sudden reversal of power between them. "He got me drunk and made me do a crazy treasure hunt. Then he rewarded me with a staff." She chuckled. "Daedra aren't like Nine, my lord. They don't ask for or require that sort of worship."

She took half a step back and instead of straightening herself, she slid slowly to the floor, her eyes focused intently on his. She knelt before him, sliding her hands up the hard muscles of his thighs until they reached the heavy buckle that held his belt. With practiced fingers, she unwrapped the leather and let the belt fall to the floor.

From the sharp intake of his breath and the heat that flushed his cheeks, she knew Ulfric had forgotten about the daedra and the Nine and any delusions of propriety or even concern that they were in a room without a door. His entire world had contracted into the space between her fingers and his body.

"Let me show you what worship is, my lord," she said softly and then used her mouth for a different type of prayer.

_Sanguine would be pleased._


	3. For Sheogorath

Bellona chose to marry an Imperial man from Solitude, possibly because she was mad.  Completely barking mad.  Might have had something to do with the run in with Sheogorath, but she couldn’t be sure.  Maybe it was  _why_  she had the run in.  Either way, it was a sign.  Didn’t really matter which direction the wind was coming from during a storm, after all.

She'd convinced herself it was just a perverse desire to see Solitude one last time before she led the Stormcloaks to sack it that led her there.  She touched the stain of blood on the stones where Roggvir's head had rolled on her first visit.  She pointedly ignored the irritating Argonian trying to proposition her into the gods knew what.  She considered visiting the Bard's College, but it would have required a change of clothing, and with the dust of the road comfortably on her skin, she just didn't feel any desire to deal with it.

She knew she should be looking for a husband, but all she wanted was a drink.

Bellona ended up in The Winking Skeever with her feet swung up on the table and her chair tilted against the wall.  The innkeeper's son, Sorex, bought her a bottle of honey mead and spent the entire evening flirting with her by alternating compliments and sarcasm.  He told her the other side of Roggvir's life over the first bottle and all about how beautiful her eyes were over the second.

Somehow, he ended up in her bed after the third bottle of mead. 

He was no warrior and that was less of a problem than she imagined, since that was all she'd ever experienced before.  Instead of trying to show his strength by seeing how hard he could pound her into the mattress, he was nearly obsessed with her pleasure as if it was a treasure to be horded.  By dawn she was certain they had woken the entire inn, several times.

_Good enough._

She knew Ulfric would have been mortified (and more than a little jealous) at their nearly getting thrown out of the carriage between Solitude and Riften.  The driver was not amused by their attempts at public fornication.  Bellona didn't love Sorex, after all she'd only met him the day before, but she thought she might be able to.

To Oblivion with Ulfric if he didn't like it.

She had a house in the Pale, just north of Whiterun, but it was hardly ready for habitation.  After the wedding they headed instead to Breezehome.  She hadn't mentioned her daughter to Sorex, or to Ulfric.  Probably should have told the man before the wedding, but it was sudden and he’d distracted her.  

Thank the Nine, but Sorex seemed unconcerned by the little waif Bellona had taken in before they took Whiterun.  Bellona hid Lucia in Breezehome before the battle and never asked her to leave.  He took to her happily and though he complained about the house a bit, that wasn’t unexpected.  Breezehome  _was_  a dump after all.  She promised to stop at the new house on her way back to lead the Stormcloaks to Solitude.  She worried her new husband would be disturbed by her destroying his home but he only shrugged and asked her to make sure she came back to him.

He was sweet, in a gruff and overtly sexual sort of way.  She liked him but the moment she was away and Whiterun was into the dust on her horse’s hooves, it was only the soreness of her thighs that kept her new marriage in her mind. 

_It was Ulfric, always Ulfric, who monopolized her thoughts.  He was so greedy._

Bellona arrived at Heljarchen Hall to the sound of passionate arguing.  Her steward and housecarl Gregor’s voice boomed in the still, cold air. 

“My … King, please,” he practically begged.  It wasn’t his way.  Bellona’s innards went liquid.  “The lady is to arrive soon, and it is my duty to protect what is hers with my life.  Please don’t make me choose between my love for Skyrim and my honor.”

“Oh enough already,” Ulfric’s voice was annoyed, but resigned.  “I will wait as any man would for your lady to return.  I am not the High King today, just a traveler.  As far as I’m concerned, my men can stay in the stables, if that is acceptable to you.  As long as they are out of the weather, they will be fine.  We are marching north to Solitude after gathering our forces and I cannot afford to lose any men.”

“Of course, my lord,” Gregor conceded as Bellona dismounted her horse to move more quietly, to overhear more of Ulfric’s carefully thought out lies.  “My Thane is to arrive soon from her marriage bed, to oversee the last of the construction before she was set to join you.  I am sure she will offer you hospitality, such as it is.  The stables  _are_  more finished than the house.”

“I am a soldier first, housecarl,” Ulfric replied.  “Anything out of the wind will do.”

“My Jarl,” Bellona finally interrupted, strutting into view and tossing the reins to Gregor, effectively dismissing him. “It is an honor to see you.”  She bowed deeply to him, as Gregor hurried off to the stables.  Bellona gestured to the door, the hinges still gleaming new iron without a single speck of rust.  “My home is yours.”  Whispering under her breath, she added to his back.  “What in ever fucked Oblivion are you  _doing_  here?”

Once the door closed behind them, Ulfric spun on her and pinned her to the door.

“I can smell him on you, whore,” he spat at her.  Heat flooded into Bellona’s cheeks. 

“How dare you?” She pulled out from under him, the sound of his steel bracers hitting the wood of the door echoing through the empty room.  It took all her restraint not to pull her weapon. 

He sniffed the air as he turned to face her.  “You just had to enjoy it, didn’t you?”  He was angry, his lips thin.  “You weren’t the only Stormcloak in Solitude, Bellona.”

Ulfric used her name.  He never used her name.  She couldn’t let it distract her.

She balled her hands up into fists as her sides, to prevent herself from hitting him.  “And why should I not?” she said through clenched teeth.  “You told me to get married, did you not?  You hardly specified how I should go about it.” She shook her head in frustration.  “Besides, I doubt the man would have accepted my proposal otherwise.”

Ulfric’s gaze slipped off her face.  Bellona almost expected to hear the sound of glass breaking.

“I know what I said,” he said finally, looking back up at her, that same fire still burning.  “But I didn’t expect you to take to it so readily.”

Bellona sighed, her fists unfurling.  “This was your doing. I made the best of it that I could,” she said.  “I married at my High King’s bidding.  For Skyrim.”

“Everything is for Skyrim,” he said.  “What’s left for us?”

“The same thing there was before,” she said.  “Bellona is for you.  My sword is for Skyrim.”

Ulfric smirked, washing the sadness from his face like a cloud blowing from in front of the sun.

"My _axe_ is for Skyrim, " he grinned.  "My _sword_ is for you."

"Dibella's tits man," she swore.  "You are unbelievable."

He advanced on her, kissing the edge of her jaw and working his way towards her mouth. He didn't bother with a reply.  It was a true statement; no point in trying to deny it. She wondered  if he felt the same way around her and she did near him, all raw nerve endings and heat in her belly.  Despite being well and thoroughly fucked to soreness by her new husband waiting back in Whiterun, she wanted Ulfric like a thirsty woman in the desert.  But she was still angry, still wanting to punish him for it all. 

She flipped them, slamming him back against the wall, the goat horn torch rattling in its bracket from the impact.  Bellona bit at his lips, tore at his trousers, exposing his ready erection and grabbing him a little too roughly.  He whipped his head back, cracking his skull against the wall, gasping sharply.  He liked a little pain with his pleasure and she was more than happy to give it to him.

They slid to the floor, Bellona straddling his hips, clumsily trying to move her padded leggings out of the way without removing her greaves.  

As always, it was a wild rut, just raw animals.

Once he was inside her, he wrapped his arms around her still armored shoulders and crushed her to him.  It felt strange, just slightly separated by the strong layers of orichalum and leather. 

"You unman me, woman," he said, shifting his hips. "You make me forget everything else.  You've made me love you more than I love anything else, even Skyrim."

His cock throbbed inside her.  He hadn't even moved but his admission seemed to be just as stimulating.  She felt his orgasm through his entire body, his hands flexing against her; his thighs trembling under hers.

She rested her cheek on the fur on his cloak, just letting him cling to her.  He smelled like the wind and snow, that bright outdoor smell overriding the musky scent of the fur and of his own skin.  He was a force of nature himself, it seemed.  He made her heart feel as if it would burst out of her chest.

"I love you too Ulfric, " She muttered against his neck.  "I only wish we'd met at High Hrothgar, not in the middle of a war."

He chuckled. "I doubt that would have pleased you as much.  The Greybeards are celibate.  Sex is too much of a distraction.  They are married only to the Voice and to Kyne."

Bellona raised her head to look at him.

"You? You were celibate?" She looked incredulous. "I find that hard to believe."

"Why do you think I had every woman I could lay hands on when I came down from the mountain? I had to make up for lost time," his voice was merry, but then his tone dropped and became serious. "Until now," he said. "Now I can't even think of other women and I know I have to find a wife of my own once this war is done, some Nord lass with wide hips and noble blood." 

_If only he knew, her blood was more noble than the stuff in his veins.  Bellona was a Septim, illegitimate through a dozen generations.  She was the dragonborn; and she was the only living descendant of Talos of Atmora._

She must have tensed in his arms when her mind twisted to the branches of her family tree.  He read her reaction as something different.

"You wouldn't want to be my brood mare, even if you could be," he said.  Ulfric slipped out from under her, getting up as he tucked himself back into his trousers.  He held his hand out to her.

She took his hand and let him pull her to her feet. "I like the breeding part well enough."

"I did notice," he grinned.  "But you are hardly the maternal type."

He didn't know about Lucia.  He didn't know that Bellona yearned for a child of her own.  

"I take care of you and all of Skyrim," she said.  

"You do," he said. "But swords and milk are hardly the same thing. Either way, it doesn't matter does it? Isn't it better to have this secret thing between us than some boring marriage where we can bicker about how to build the fire?"

Bellona raised an eyebrow at him.  "Do you even know how to build your own fire, my jarl?"

"Of course I do." He looked annoyed. "The Greybeards hardly served me as I learned to harness my voice.  Like any apprentice, I spent as much time mucking out chamber pots as I did studying dragon words."

"That I would love to see," Bellona snickered. 

"I'd love to see you bent over this railing," Ulfric said, gesturing at the loft above.  "With no armor, of course."  His voice took on that husky quality again.  He was insatiable, her King.

Bellona pulled off a gauntlet and dropped it on the floor.  

"Follow me, my lord," she said, giving him a half bow and leading him up the stairs.  She could give him what he wanted, and she'd enjoy it.

She ignored the little nagging voice in the back of her head as best she could.  But even as her armor was discarded and the railing of the loft was digging into her belly and Ulfric was pounding into her from behind, she couldn't completely quiet it.

_He doesn't really know you at all.  He loves your passion, your dragon blood, your sword arm, your cunt.  But does he know your heart enough to truly love you? You the bandit child, thrust into all this power, just for surviving an attack by a dragon and by an accident of heredity?_

Ulfric came hard inside her.  It was as if he didn't think there could be any consequences.  And maybe she didn't care if there were. If he put a child in her, would that be any different from where she came from? 

Just one unbroken line of bastards, with Martin Septim's pale blue eyes.


	4. The Crush of Victory

Solitude fell in a blaze of fire.

It was so strange, fighting beside Ulfric instead of for him, hearing his Thu'um rattle her blood. It aroused her; the blood matted into his beard, the unmistakable sound of the dragon language from his mouth. He knew only a fraction of the words she did despite his years of study, and she knew he'd been a prodigy.

_She was a freak of nature._

When the city was conquered, Ulfric carefully and politically shouted in the a language of men and mer that only the Moot would make him High King. He even more carefully allowed Elisif to keep her seat as jarl.

"A great darkness is growing and soon we will be called to fight it, on these shores and abroad." His voice echoes through the courtyard. It made her knees feel weak. "The Aldmeri Dominion may have defeated the Empire, but it has not defeated SKYRIM!" He roared at the crowd, his voice quickly drowned out by their hysterical cheering. His face was elated. This was his element, mantle of High King was on his shoulders and he led Skyrim now whether the Moot met or not.

Though Bellona's body ached from battle, it ached even more for him. Death did that to her, as it did to many. There was a reason so many turned to banditry after all. Rob a caravan, kill some rich bastard and screw like wild animals in a cave somewhere. It was the life she knew before Helgen. Sometimes she still missed the simplicity of it, though rutting a King in a palace had its merits. 

She surprised herself by thinking of Sorex then, back in Whiterun watching over her life as she strutted about changing the world. She watched Ulfric gather congratulations and adulation to him like coins in a purse, yet she had a pang of longing for Sorex instead. He would be more interested in tending the the wounds on her hands, the blisters inside her armor where the leather rubbed the skin away. He was no healer, but he was unabashedly her husband and seemed to take great pleasure in caring for her as best he could.

Sorex couldn't fight for her. He couldn't rule Skyrim for her. But then again, Ulfric did neither of these for her either. He did them for _Ulfric_.

She looked up at Ulfric again and those thoughts washed away. It wasn't just that he was handsome. There were far more handsome men in Skyrim, and it might be argued that her husband was one of them. But it was everything about Ulfric that drew her to him, his bearing, his shrugging confidence. She considered going to him, even here in public, the thrumming of her heartbeat in her ears almost enough overcome what she knew would be instant rejection. Sense overrode passion and she held fast with her head high. Her expression and her bearing was just frightening enough, spattered with blood and the naked ebony blade still in her hand, to keep anyone from approaching her.

Thank Talos, since she was positive any eloquence she might possess was currently unavailable.

Eventually, the crowd began to disapate, spreading out through the damaged city in search of libations. Had she not married him, Sorex would be serving drinks at the Winking Skeever right now...or he would be dead. Those that were not celebrating were bringing the bodies of those caught in the battle to the temple instead. Many wore the familiar armor of the Imperial army. A few wore the mismatched leathers of the Stormcloaks. Some wore dresses. One in particular stood out, a blood caked length of dark hair sprawled out from underneath the pale unmoving face of Vivienne Otis. Sorex admitted his childhood fascination with her to Bellona, in that sleepy contented state of mind after all his needs had been satisfied. He'd snuggled up against her and carefully thanked Talos (he could have cared less about the Gods before he married the Stormcloak) that Vivienne never showed him any interest. It was sweet at the time, but might be bitter for him now that Vivenne was dead. If Bellona hadn't...if Ulfric hadn't insisted.... It gave her an uneasy feeling.

She looked up in time to see Ulfric carefully kissing Elisif's fine white knuckles and the unease morphed into nausea. The young Jarl pulled her hand away from him as soon as it was seemly and was unable to hide the look of disgust that rolled across her delicate features. If she hadn't been so civilized, Bellona expected Elisif would have slapped him across the face. It would have been funny, had she not seen the look on Ulfric's face. Even from across the courtyard, it was a look she recognized.

 _Predatory_. He looked at _her like that._

Elisif turned to go and Ulfric followed. Bellona took a half step forward before a hand grabbed her arm and spun her around into a bear hug and pulled her up off the ground. Startled, she almost shouted on instinct until she recognized the familiar yellow hair pressed into her face.

" _Ralof_ ," she said, "put me down, you idiot."

Ralof laughed and set her back on her feet. Then he punched her in the shoulder, carefully avoiding the Dragonbone and hitting the soft leather at the joint.

"Did you ever think we'd end up here when we were all trussed up like pigs at Helgen?"

Bellona made a non-committal noise, distracted by Ulfric and Elisif at the doorway to Castle Dour momentarily. "No, I ... ," she paused and Ralof followed her gaze.

"Still with that game?" He snorted. Bellona whipped her head around to look at him. Ralof shook his head. "We all know, Bell," he said shrugging. "It's no secret. The two of you started undressing each other with your eyes on the cart before we even got to Helgen." He shook his head again. "No accounting for taste."

Bellona sneered at him. "I don't even know which of us you just insulted." No point in denial now.

"Take your pick," he grinned. "Though I probably should stick to insulting him because you're fucking scary."

She snorted a laugh at him. He was good for that. If he wasn't such a loser, she might have married him instead. He was fun and he understood her, but Ralof liked girly girls and there was a rumor he liked men even more, but Bellona hadn't really put much thought into it.

After escaping from Helgen together, she'd assumed they'd end up in bed. That level of excitement usually led to a good railing, but he'd shown exactly no interest. Handsome though he was, she'd not let herself get attached to the idea. Before Ulfric, she knew when to cut her losses.

"I am the Dragonborn, after all," she said without missing a beat. "I'm supposed to be scary. Even dragons are scared of me."

"Does that mean you are going to get rid of the fucking bastard things now that Ulfric doesn't have you winning Skyrim for him?" He folded his arms across his chest with appropriate petulance. He really was the epitome of a Nord stereotype. Over proud and but not over bright.

Stereotype or no, she was the Dragonborn whether she liked it or not and she let herself be distracted killing Imperial soldiers. She left little time for study with the Greybeards and trying to find out why the dragons had returned to Nirn after all this time. She was too busy fucking Ulfric between battles and even now it was first in her mind. She didn't want to be the Dragonborn but unless Ulfric still had need of her, she really had no excuse.

"If the High King bids me, I'll do whatever he wants," she said blandly, trying to shrug it off. "Ulfric comes first."

Ralof laughed uproariously. "I bet he does." He slapped her on the back. "Let's get some mead," he said, pushing her forward. "It'll be a while before you get any summons to _serve_ your king tonight. Let's get drunk and celebrate not being dead."

Bellona nodded. "Yeah," she said, "let's get drunk."

It wasn't long before they'd wandered off from the crowd, having each acquired a full bottle of mead for their own, retreating up into the curtain wall where the noise was more muted. They'd both seen more than their share of battles and sometimes the noise of the crowds was just too much, especially when they were drunk and especially for Ralof. Nord heart or no, battle had scarred him in ways that couldn't be seen.

They sat side by side, stripped out of their bloody armor and leaning against the wall and staring up at the stars dotting the sky. They drank in silence. They'd talked the scars of battle to death in the field before. It wouldn't do to sully their victory with invisible injuries on the heels of their finest victory.

Bellona picked at the embroidered hem of her tunic. The dragons twisted across the fabric, threads hanging loose in a few well worn spots.

"Is it the power?" Ralof asked out of nowhere.

"What?" Bellona asked in return, looking up at him. She knew damn well what he meant, but she didn't want to think about it.

"Ulfric," he slurred. "He's scarred and mean and as surly as a bear." He hiccuped. "I respect the man, but you're fucking him. Must be a reason"

Bellona gritted her teeth. "I'm not fucking him." Her words were blurry too and she was drunk enough to think lying might actually work.

Ralof snorted. "Of course you are. You fucked him so loud in Windhelm they heard you in Markarth."

"What do you care?" She snapped at him.

"I care, " he replied too quickly, swinging his head to look at her. He paused a bit too long to feel comfortable but eventually continued, his voice almost ragged. "But why him Bell? Why...why not me?"

"Are...what?" Bellona was flabbergasted. "I thought you said I was ugly."

"Right, _ugly_ ," he sighed. "The fucking dovakiin and you're worried about ugly."

"That's not what I meant," Bellona said. "I mean I thought ... It never even crossed my mind. You made it pretty clear you weren't interested."

"And you believed me?"

Bellona shrugged. "I know I'm no Nord beauty. I'm just a stumpy mannish Imperial. I figured I wasn't your type after Helgen. Besides, aren't you Nords supposed to be men of your word? When you tell me I'm ugly, I believed you."

"I dunno," he replied, mimicking her shrug. "But I know I was always there, fighting with you. And I wouldn't make you marry someone else."

"So you know about that too?" Clearly, all the secrecy was working out well for them.

"Yeah, we figured it out. Why would the fierce dragonborn marry some innkeeper unless she had to?"

Bellona pursed her lips. She did care about Sorex. Even loved him maybe, or would some day. He was no _mere innkeeper_ but that was probably too fine a point for a man like Ralof to understand. 

"I didn't have to do anything. But it was for the best, if only to shut you fishwives up."

"I don't want to shut up," he said. Ralof got up on to his knees, facing her. His hair was dishelved and his eyes looked bleary. "I think we should fuck."

"What? Right here on the wall?" Bellona was incredulous. She could have sworn Ralof thought of her like a little brother, not a lover. It had crossed her mind in the days after Helgen and before she'd fallen into bed with Ulfric, but Ralof himself had never given the slightest indication she interested him in the least.

"Why not?" he asked. "Ulfric will be eye fucking Elisif all night and we won the damn war for him. Why shouldn't we celebrate too? I love Ulfric," he admitted. "I know you do too, but he's got no time for either of us."

"Are you fucking him too? Is this your way of fucking him when he isn't here?" Bellona asked. She wasn't sure if he'd be insulted of aroused. There was really no way to predict a Nord man.

"He...no," Ralof carefully looked away. _By Mara, he was in love with Ulfric. She did not see that coming._ "Fucking you will be the closest I can get."

Bellona closed her eyes for a moment. "This has nothing to do with me at all does it?"

Ralof frowned. "I like you too," he said finally. "I'm lonely and now...this war has made me too broken for any decent person to want. I might be a war hero, but I scream in my sleep. Who would want to try to put me back together?"

"Ralof," Bellona sighed, putting her hands on his shoulders. "You... _we_ aren't broken forever. Do you think any of the rest of them...," She gestured past the wall towards the courtyard where the sounds of revelry still rang out. "Do you think they are in any better condition than we are?" She squeezed her hands, feeling the tension in his shoulders. "You're alive."

He threw himself forward on top of her, kissing her clumsily before she realized what was happening. His breath smelled like mead and smoke.

"By Talos man," she swore at him, only halfheartedly pushing him away. She shouldn't do this, but his weight across her chest made it feel less likely to explode. Bellona was hurt in a way that magic or potions couldn't heal just like Ralof was, if for different, less sensible reasons. Ulfric was breaking her heart with his absence. Sorex was far away, busy being just a normal person that she could never be, no matter how hard she tried.

Ralof was right here. Right now.

And most of all, he understood at least as much as anyone could. He couldn't know about her old bloodlines, but he wouldn't care if he did. Ralof didn't care about nobility of blood, just of actions.

"You still going to be able to look me in the eyes tomorrow?"

"Maybe," he laughed, tugging at the hem of her tunic in a hunt for the skin underneath.

"This is stupid," she replied but made no effort to stop him. His touch with inexpert, but the callouses on his fingers were comforting against her belly.

"I don't care," Ralof muttered against her neck. His trousers were undone and sagging around his knees already. "I want you Bell."

Bellona managed to get one foot out of her leggings before he was inside of her, one hand braced against the stone wall and the other on the back of her neck.

"Oh, fuck," he muttered into the side of her neck.

She grabbed his ass and urged him on. If he was going to fuck her sloppy on the wall, he might as well do it right. He was big enough to get the job done despite his complete lack of finesse with the tool. Bellona considered feeling guilty, but thought better of it. What was the point? Before the dragon, before Helgen, this was who she was. In a life of nothing but today, she grabbed on to whatever small pleasures she could find.

Now that an eternity of bloodlines and dragonfire stretched out before and after her, these small pleasures were more important than ever. She couldn't keep Ulfric and she couldn't take Sorex with her and why not fuck her friend so they both felt better?

Then she couldn't think about anything, just caught up in the friction. The primal part of her brain overrode all her doubts and her fears and this was really the best thing about sex. She forgot where they were, she forgot to care whether they were discovered and the chorus of their voices rang out across the courtyard.

Despite drunkenness, the cold stones grinding into her ass and Ralof's purely amateur skills, she shouted her climax into the sky before she realized what she was doing.

Truly shouted; in dragon language. _Morokei Slen Smoliin._

Shocked, Ralof came immediately afterwards, clutching her fiercely. From the courtyard below, there was uproarious applause.

Bellona knew she should be horrified; Only she could have made that shout and now everyone, Ulfric included would know someone had well and thoroughly laid the dragonborn right out in the open in the middle of their victory celebration but she found she just didn't care. The dragonborn deserved to get laid, just like everyone else.

_And she figured everyone deserved an orgasm to be met with a standing ovation at least once in a lifetime._


	5. Mountains and Men

He didn't call for her until the next evening.  

It felt like an eternity, despite getting ragingly drunk after leaving Ralof with promises to not boast of his conquest and sleeping for 10 hours in Sorex's old room in her father-in-law's inn, which was bizarre enough all on it's own.  Bellona found time to wash carefully, tend to her wounds and even weave plaits into her almost chin length hair.  

Ulfic was in Caste Dour, carefully not usurping Elisif's chair in the Blue Palace, though he could have if he'd wanted to.  There were women still mopping Tullius' blood off the stones.

"Stormblade," he said when she walked in, so nonchalant, so easy.  "I see you've recovered from the battle?"

Galmar chuckled from a seat in the corner, "The lass recovered all over the courtyard last night, from what I heard."

Bellona clenched her teeth, but stayed carefully silent. _That old fuck._

"Good thing you shuttled your new husband out of here," he continued, digging a bigger grave for both of them.  "But to the victor go the spoils eh?  Have a few tastes of it myself after a good fight like that one."

"Thank you for that Galmar," Ulfric grumbled.  "As much as I love the idea of your hairy ass doing what it will to the virginal ladies of Solitude, can you just, fuck off?"

Galmar and Bellona both looked equally shocked at that.  Ulfric almost never got emotional about anything, at least not when there were ears to overhear him.  He never got annoyed or sarcastic, though they both knew him well enough to have been exposed to his true self before.  He didn't give them time to react further.

"All of you," he said, motioning to the guards at the door, the maids, Galmar. "Get out. All but you Stormblade.  I have a delicate job for you that doesn't want for prying ears."

Galmar nodded and made for the door, too roughly grabbing the elbow of the nearest guard and nigh well dragging him out the door.  Apparently last nights performance meant no more public chaperones. Bellona didn't like it. She knew Ulfric fed on the forbidden.

He didn't even look her in the eyes once they were alone.

"I don't care who you fucked," he said, eyes on his hands where they leaned against the map on the table.  All the flags, some red and some blue, where knocked on their sides.  Skyrim was whole, for now.  "It doesn't matter. What does matter is that you betrayed me."

Bellona closed her eyes. What could she say?

"Be that as it may, I still have...needs for you to attend to."

She looked up at him fast enough to give herself whiplash.  He was staring at her, face as bland as oats.

"What do you...I'm sorry, I just...," she was completely inarticulate under his cool stare.

"And I have another delicate matter for you to attend to once you've done your duty to your King," he said, finally standing and stalking around the table towards her.  He emphasized the word King as if it would make a difference. But Bellona loved the man, didn't she? Not the King, the title, the power. Just the man; she was certain of it. Ulfric's face was still impassive, like a beast that knew it's prey was too wounded to run.

He grabbed her elbow and forced her to the floor on her knees.  She wore only the thin ceremonial leathers of the Stormcloak generals, and her knees banged against the stone hard.  Ulfric's calloused fingers dug into the bare skin of her upper arm as he leaned over her menacingly.

"Use your mouth for something other than shouting," he just barely whispered, roughly throwing down her arm before standing again and perfunctorily untying his pants. 

He waved his cock in her face like a weapon.  It _was_ a weapon. When she didn't move, still shocked by his rough treatment, rough even for Ulfric, he grabbed a fistful of her hair.  Once, it had been too short to grab, like any smart warrior's.  Now, her scalp burned as he dragged her towards him, knees scraping. He pushed the head of his cock against her mouth.

"Now," he snapped and Bellona complied.  His eyes rolled back, but his teeth were bared.  Like a beast; an animal.  He'd never been so angry before, so willing to force her.  Bellona was willing, but that didn't mean he wasn't frightening her.  She was the fucking dragonborn, but he was her King, in all things.

She gagged, pulled away hard enough that he was left with strands of blonde hair tangled between his knuckles. She struggled to catch her breath.

She considered shouting, but instead, she apologized.

"Ulfric," her voice was pleading. "Please, I'm sorry."

She just wanted him to love her.

"Shut up," he snapped, grabbing her again by the arm and yanking her to her feet.  He spun her around, flipping up the back of her leather tasset and then holding eerily still.  The cold air on her skin was agony, but not more than his cold stare on her flesh.  Bellona caught a whimper before it escaped her lips as she felt the icy ebony of Ulfric's favorite dagger slicing through her smalls underneath.  He just stared at her, vulnerable and exposed to his gaze.

"Perhaps I should call all my generals in to have a look at you, to take a taste," he said, venomous. "They can see what a slut the dragonborn truly is." He snorted. "Which one of them was it? Yrsarald? Kai?"

Bellona was silent.  If he knew the truth? That it wasn't at all what he thought? That they both wished they'd been with him instead?

Ulfric didn't wait for a reply instead ramming himself inside of her without a moments preparation.  Experienced as she was, Bellona thought she might bleed.

"Please Ulfric," she begged, unable to control herself. She was at his mercy.  Again. As always.

"Shut up," he snapped again.  He rode her hard. No tenderness, not even the passion of his most furtive couplings before.  This wasn't sex; it was a punishment for her sins.

He came without enjoying himself and pulled out, leaving her panting, crouched over the table, muscles cramping.

"I need you to convince Elisif to marry me," he said with the same sharp but unemotional voice.

Bellona willed herself to move or speak, but could not.  

"You're a manipulative bitch," he sneered. "You're just the right person for the job." He snorted again and then she heard his footsteps as he turned away, stomping to the stairs. "Cover yourself before Galmar comes back in."  It was an order, not a suggestion.

She straightened herself despite protesting muscles, her tasset falling back down over her ruined small clothes and ruined flesh.  Bellona looked at Ulfric over her shoulder, eyes blazing and hoping, dreaming that for a moment she might see the man she loved instead of this beast of a King.  

"That's a girl," Ulfric said, running a hand through his hair. "Do this right, and maybe I'll just forgive you."

And then he was gone, boot heels clicking up the stone steps.  Bellona swallowed the lump in her throat, her mouth dry and foul.

Who was this man, who'd taken her with no regard for her at all? He was the thing the imperials spoke of, this self centered man who wanted power only for himself.  But that wasn't her Ulfric, with sad eyes and tales of quiet contemplation at High Hrothgar broken by blood and torture at the golden hands of the Thalmor.

But perhaps this was the same man, with a wall built around his heart as high as the Throat of the World.

Bellona the Dragonborn had climbed the 7000 steps but she had not yet met the master who lived on the peak of the mountain.  The mountain was like Ulfric; there were secrets she did not know.

Maybe some things weren't meant to be known.


	6. Moths to Flame

Elisif was going to take some convincing.

Bellona spoke with her, with her steward Falk Firebeard and tried to ingratiate herself to the Jarl.  She was younger than Bellona had realized and still so saddened by the loss of her husband.  A husband Ulfric killed; and whether it was in an honorable duel or not, he was still dead and Elisif was still mourning.  

Ulfric had given her a nearly impossible task.  Even so, Bellona was determined.  

She was still hurting from Ulfric's rough treatment.  It went so far beyond just pain.  Sometimes, she liked that; some dominance, a little hurting with the pleasure but that wasn't at all what happened between them.  She hesitated calling it rape, but she was having a hard time convincing herself there was another word for it.  She didn't like to think that the man she thought she loved was even capable of it.

She tried not to think about it at all.

First things first, she needed to Elisif and her court to love  _her_.  She could worry about Ulfric later.  So she took whatever tasks they needed and headed out into the countryside.

She also bought a house and sent for her family.   _Her family._  To hell with what Ulfric thought.  She wasn't going to stay in Solitude without them.  And if nothing else, Sorex was more than pleased.  He'd always coveted Proudspire Manor and suddenly living there...he was giddy.  And aroused to nearly amusing levels.  Once Lucia was in bed, he took her from one room to the next to  _break them in_  or so he put it.  

There was something to be said for a man who didn't use up his energy on the battlefield.  It left a whole lot of pent up enthusiasm for elsewhere.

After what happened with Ulfric, she was starving for affection and Sorex was more than happy to provide.  He didn't know,  _couldn't know,_  what happened.  His pride would have gotten him killed had he known.  Warrior or no, he took being her husband very seriously.  Though in the aftermath of their marathon lovemaking, when they'd finally collapsed into their new bed he curled up against her and gave her permission to find her pleasures wherever she pleased, as long as she came home to him in the end.

He heard about Ralof and the courtyard.  Sorex forgave her and he said he loved her and he just wanted his place in her heart.  Gruff as he was, he seemed to understand her in ways she hardly understood herself.  In his dark eyes she saw how deeply he wanted her to be happy.

"When did you know?" she asked him.  She was tucked into the crook of his arm, warm and comfortable, fingers toying idly with the dark hair on his chest.  "When did this ... when did you  _love_  me?"

He chuckled.  "The moment you walked into the Skeever," he said.  "I didn't know what it was, but I do now.  You're like a dragon."

"Dragonborn anyway," she shrugged.  "But that..."

He cut her off.  "That's everything.  You're strong and powerful and passionate.   _Amazing._   You're like a force of nature, Ona."  He kissed the top of her head.  "How could I not love you?"

Bellona felt herself smiling.  "I'm not sure I deserve you."

Sorex squeezed her.  "We're the only people in Skyrim worth loving," he said and then laughed.  "I'm so glad you came into the Skeever that night."

"Sorex, I should...," Bellona stumbled.  She'd never told him why she married him.  And it hadn't been all that long, short enough in fact, that he could still leave with the blessing of Mara since she lied to him.  She didn't want him to go, but if he was going to  _love_  her; if she was going to love him he deserved the truth.  "I came to Solitude because I... _was ordered_  to find a husband." She cringed at the sudden tension in the warm body underneath her.  She raised herself up on her elbow to she could look at him, one arm still draped over his waist.

If he was going to offer her his trust, she had to earn it.

"There were rumors, and to stop them I needed to get married.  I wasn't sure I cared.  I didn't plan for anything except to do what I was told."  She mirrored the frown that spread across Sorex's face.  She slid her hand up until it was over his sternum.  His heartbeat was fast and thready beneath her palm.   "I'm sorry I didn't tell you, but I am  _so_  glad I came into the Skeever too.  I'm glad I married you.   Maybe it didn't start out right, but I got very, very lucky."  

She smiled at him, but sadly. She couldn't help but think of Ulfric, how he'd abused her trust, how it hurt her yet how she was bound to him even still.  She wanted to offer Sorex a way out. A way to get away from her.  

She used him after all.

"If you...," she sighed.  Lucia already adored him.  It would be so hard, but it was only fair.  "If you don't want to be here, knowing this, I won't blame you.  I won't stop you."  She made a face.  "Though I do hope you'll stay."

He pulled her down against him but she could still feel tension vibrating through his body.  He was trembling a little, from anger, from upset; she couldn't tell.  Bellona tried to not tense herself.  Whatever he did now, it was his choice.

"Maybe I should, but I couldn't," he said.  His voice sounded a little shaky.  "I don't want to."

Bellona burrowed down against him.  "I'll make it up to you, somehow."

He sighed.  "But will you love me?"

She swallowed.  She had no idea.  She wasn't even sure she could separate love for hurting, or from war.  She didn't know what in Oblivion love was supposed to be, when it wasn't hurting her.  A part of her wanted to just lie to him, but that wasn't fair.  Maybe it was the first step towards real feelings for him, not just ones that Ulfric forced on her.

_Forced her._  Bellona shuddered.

"I don't know that I understand love just yet," she admitted.  "But I know that I want to try."

_she wanted love she wanted Sorex she wanted **Ulfric** she wanted  **him**  to look at her like Sorex did why didn't he love her?_

Sorex didn't reply.  She wasn't sure what to make of his silence.  She wasn't sure what to make of her own.  She missed the days when she just tumbled someone and promptly forgot their name.  She missed the days when she was just a nobody with a stupid family legend.  She missed knowing who she was and what she wanted.

It was easy when she wanted gold and mead and a full belly and a fast orgasm.  It was  _easy_  and now everything was hard.

Instead of talking, she rolled on top of Sorex and he didn't stop her when she coaxed him into another performance.  He fell asleep afterwards with his back to her, something already broken between them.

She left in the morning before he woke to go fight a dead woman.  Fighting was something she understood.

 

* * *

 

Elisif was grateful for the death of Potema at least.

Bellona tried to ignore how the Wolf Queen was her own blood, and that wasn't so hard since her blood was long since cold, no matter how rage and magic had sustained her.  

It was easy after that to find a place in the court as Thane, to dress in furs and armor and stand at the Jarl's side and ingratiate herself to her.  It put the horrible taste of bile in her mouth, but she told Elisif of the Stormcloaks, told of tales of valor and fighting and how valiant Ulfric was.

_He fought the Thalmor.  He fought dragons.  He was a King among men and maybe she should consider asking him to Court?_

Elisif was young and sweet and easily swayed by Bellona's words and in a fortnight Ulfric was coming back from Windhelm.  They would meet in private and then they would hold the moot.  Ulfric would get his crown and a Queen to go with it all in one swipe of Bellona's sword.  It didn't matter that she'd not even mentioned marriage to Elisif yet.  Stormblade was tasked with giving Ulfric his Queen and she would deliver her.  She held out Skyrim and everything he wanted to him on a golden platter.  

The wind swirled around the towers of the Blue Palace and Bellona shivered under her furs when Ulfric and his men marched through the streets of Solitude, blue banners fluttering.  Ulfric Stormcloak was every inch the High King of Skyrim as he bowed to Elisif and kissed her soft white knuckles.  

"Welcome to the Blue Palace Jarl Ulfric," Elisif said.  "Your general, Stormblade, has been of great value to my hold.  I thank you for leaving her here, my Lord.  We could not have done without her."

Ulfric only allowed the briefest of glances at Bellona before he spoke. "She is a fine warrior.  I am glad to hear you were able to put her to use."

"Come, enjoy our hospitality.  I hope to speak with you at length later," Elisif said.  Bellona could hear the work of her stories in the young woman's tone.  Her lovely unlined face smiled at the Bear of Eastmarch, rearranging itself even more pleasingly.  Bellona ground her teeth.  

"I would much enjoy that.  I will borrow my general for a moment, however.  I may have need of her for a few days, if you don't mind my returning her to my service."  He still steadfastly refused to meet Bellona's eyes.  Her heart felt like a heavy stone in her chest.  

"She is yours to command, of course, my Jarl," Elisif simpered at him.  They spoke of her like she wasn't even really there, as if she was only a tool and yet that was exactly what she was, after all.  The Dragonborn was a weapon above all other things.  How could she expect to be anything but what she'd made herself?

"My lady," Ulfric bowed to her, the movement rippling the fine heavy fur at his collar.  It was new, wolf pelt with pale grey tips like soot brushed snow.  Bellona wanted to bury her fingers in it.  She wasn't sure if she wanted to grab fistfuls and use it to slam his head against the wall or to kiss him.

She wasn't sure if she hated him or loved him or if it was a little of both.

He gestured for her to follow him.  It was a cold, impersonal gesture but she didn't expect anything more and certainly not here.  Even so, she followed no different than a loyal hound, still loyal even if you beat it.  Ulfric moved with purpose to a room at the end of the hall and closed the door behind them.  He crossed the floor in a few strides to the tall four post bed dominating the room.  He leaned up against a post and crossed his legs at the ankles and his arms across his chest.  Bellona stayed steadfastly at the door, near to an escape.  

She couldn't allow a repeat of what happened before.  Her heart couldn't bear it. She still loved that man she knew in Windhelm, even if he was lost to her.

"You seem to have done good work," he drawled.  There was a familiarity to his tone that had been missing in the hall.  It made the hair on the back of her neck stand up.  "Elisif is far more amicable to me than she was.  Have you broached the subject of marriage with her?"

Bellona shook her head.  She looked at the floor, steadied herself then with a deep breath looked up and met his eyes.  There was a little glimmer of the man she remembered there, but not as much as she hoped for.  It felt like something broke inside her.  "I was waiting until tonight.  You need to charm her."  She made a helpless noise.  "You can be very charming when you choose to be."

Ulfric snorted.  It was almost a laugh but cold as the ice on the Sea of Ghosts.  "Is that meant to be disparaging, Stormblade?"

"Hardly, my Jarl," she tried not to bite her tongue.  "It is true."

"Is that what you think?" There was an immediate shift in this tone.  It was softer, both volume and intent.  He stood up and his arms across his chest seemed more an embrace than a shield.  "Is that all you think this was?"

Her brow furrowed.  " _Was_?" Perhaps that was her answer. It was no more than she expected.  

Ulfric closed his eyes for a moment.  "I didn't...I was angry."  He looked back up at her.  His expression was wrenching.  "Did I break the thing I love?"

"I don't know," she swallowed her heart back into her chest.  "Is it broken?"

He dropped his arms to his sides.  "By Talos, Bellona, I don't know either.  I don't know if there's much left of who I was before."

"What really changed?" she snapped it; spat it at him like a curse.  "Nothing is different, only that we succeeded.  How are you a different man now?"

"Because I have to be," he said.  His eyes were over her head now, looking past her.  "Because I have to find a way to be all things to all people, please the Moot, secure a legacy.  That second son that went to High Hrothgar...he can't be those things."

"Is there nothing of him left at all?"

"A memory, perhaps.  Unless there is somewhere safe to keep his heart," he said.  Ulfric shook his head.  "But you broke his heart on the wall in Solitude."

"It's my fault then?" she asked.  "If that's how it is."  She turned her back to him, hand on the door but unable to move.  She swallowed.  He should know.  "It was Ralof; up on the wall."  The admission came easier than she expected.  "He's...he's in love with you.  And so am... _was_  I.  You had no time for either of us.  Each other was the best we could do." 

Bellona looked back at him over her shoulder. Ulfric seemed unable to find any words.  His mouth was open, brows drawn together.  He closed his mouth without a sound.

"You don't realize the hold you have, the power you have," Bellona said to the door again.  "Even without the crown.  And you wield it carelessly, my King."

There was a long silence.  Bellona tried to open the door, but she struggled to move.  It felt like she was underwater.  She was drowning.

"I'm sorry," he said cracking the silence like thin ice and Bellona gasped at the air.  She wasn't sure he understood what that even meant as he said it.  She could practically feel his emotions pouring off of him.  He wanted to have her; he wanted to have everyone else too.  Ulfric selfishly wanted the whole world to lay down at his feet and he couldn't even admit it to himself.  "Please, don't go."  His voice pleaded and it pulled at her, more powerful than the tide.

Her King,  _her Jarl_  could have commanded her.  She would have stayed and he could have raped her and she would never have flinched.  But that was  _Ulfric's_  voice; sad and broken and grasping.  It was the Ulfric she thought she lost at the battle of Solitude and yet, there he was still.  

Slowly, agonizingly, she turned around.  Bellona searched his face for regret and it was there, though she knew in the depth of her heart he had no idea why.  He didn't understand himself; how could he possibly know how he was forever hurting her?  Yet she wanted to give him what he wanted.  

_Bellona delivered Skyrim to him.  After that, what was her heart?_

"Is that really you in there?  Ulfric for Bellona?"

He swallowed and nodded and she forgave him.  Bellona fell into his arms and let him kiss her even as she knew he was planning his marriage and his kingdom and she was just one of the many spoils of battle.  Even as her husband, who actually loved her, sat in their home raising their daughter with his heart breaking, she kissed Ulfric back.

He was a flame and she was a moth and there was nothing she could do but burn.

 

 


	7. Sos Los Pah -- Blood is All

The wedding was held on the Winter Solstice.  

The Temple of the Nine Divines in Solitude was dressed in white flowers forced into bloom by magic.  For a people who distrusted magic as the Nords did, they were quick to take advantage of it when it suited them.

Bellona used it to set them free.

She used it when she defeated Alduin.

They never once talked about it.

It was autumn when they held the moot, when they gave Ulfric the crown of the High King of Skyrim.  It was a hollow gesture, as the Thalmor threat loomed over them and the Empire both.  But they lived in happy ignorance.

Bellona wanted to go back.  She wanted to go back to the days when she lived with bandits in Cyrodill and had no idea what was happening in the rest of the world.  She wanted to go back to when Sovengarde was a myth the northmen blathered on about when they were drunk, or naked or dying.

But it was real, just as Oblivion was real and just as dragons were real.

Alduin might have been Akatosh's child.  She didn't know.  She knew he was defeated, even if she wasn't sure if he could ever really be dead.

Bellona was dressed now in gleaming steel armor, a fur cloak of fine fox fur over her shoulders and braids and flowers in her hair.  It was long now, long enough that it brushed over the fur.  On her belt, her ebony Stormblade and a dragonbone dagger made of the shield of bone over Alduin's heart.  She bought the finest clothes in the latest styles for Lucia and Sorex, dressed them with matching collars of fur to show they were her family and they walked behind her into the Temple like the honored guests they were.

She brought her entire family to Ulfric's wedding to Elisif; her husband and both her children, Lucia and the one still slumbering, hidden in her belly.

Bellona felt sick.

She didn't know who fathered her child.  Sorex? Ulfric?  _Ralof?_   She had no way to know until the child came.  She hadn't known the child yet existed, not when she went to fight the dragon, not when she spoke to Paarthurnax and came face to face with her blood.  But the dragon knew _._

_drem yol lok blood of Talos, blood of the north, heart of ebony, dragonbone and despair_

_hin kiir lost dez_ ,  _the one that sleeps in your belly will be more_

_sos los pah; who's have you given her?_

He didn't know the answer, or if he did, he would not tell.  The dragon was cryptic and wise and she knew in her marrow that he had his reasons.

He still lived, at any rate.

And the dragon was the only one who knew now.  Soon, she wouldn't be able to hide it, but for now, it looked only that two months at home had agreed with her and her husband's fine cooking put fat back on to her lean bones.

Bellona looked lovely even as she fell apart, but it was impossible to compare to the High Queen.  She was born to this; she came to the altar of Talos in white and gold.  Elisif was young and bright and the crowd made appreciative noises as Ulfric kissed her, claiming his territory like a beast.

The Winter Solstice.  More night for drinking and feasting and lovemaking.  The perfect time for a wedding in Skyrim.  Bellona married Sorex in summer but they were Imperials, even if Bellona's blood ran back to Talos himself.  No matter.  She didn't  _look_  Nord, and that was enough.

Nord or no, they sang and toasted the Dragonborn right along with the new King and Queen she made possible. Bellona smiled and sipped watered mead and tried to look happy.  She was relieved when Lucia began to yawn and Sorex folded the little girl into his arms to carry her home.  

He was a good father.  He was a good husband.  His dark eyes pleaded with her to come home even as his mouth told her to stay.

Bellona stayed.

Sorex left heartbroken again, not even knowing why, but still he cradled Lucia like the precious thing she was and took her home to sleep.  It felt like an armored hand gripped her heart when she watched him go.

Bellona turned back to the wedding party to find Elisif surrounded by courtiers, hangers on, Thanes from each hold trying to curry the favor of the new queen.  The Dragonborn hung back in the shadows, far more able to disappear than anyone expected as she watched Elisif simper and smile and sparkle and glow.  A pit of jealousy burned in Bellona's belly.  

Tonight Elisif would make love with Ulfric, even as his child might lay inside Bellona's womb.  Her heart ached.  She wondered where Ulfric was, suspiciously missing from his own wedding.  She felt his voice before she heard it, hot honey-scented breath on the nape of her neck.

"Bellona."  He whispered her name and she felt it to the soles of her feet.  "I need you."

She shivered.  His hand was under her cloak, the tips of his fingers in the seams in her armor.  There were gaps now, as her body changed.  

"Please, before they miss us," he said and tugged once on the steel plate.  Bellona turned to see the sweep of his ermine cloak disappear down the stairs to the Undercroft of the Temple.  

She glanced back over her shoulder.  Elisif had everyone's attention.  Bellona followed.

Her boots were silent down the stone stairs, dark shadows dancing in the flickering torchlight.  There were doors at the bottom of the stairs and one was ajar, gold firelight leaking between the wood and the stone.  She slipped inside and latched the door behind her.

Ulfric stood between the door and the fire, his bulky body rimmed in gold.  His eyes were bright with drink, his face flushed, but his mouth was downturned.  Not in anger, but sadness.  The lines at the corners of his mouth seemed deeper.  He looked older.

It was like Elisif had taken all his remaining youth for herself.

"Stormbl-," he began and changed his mind.  "Bellona."  He made a supplicating sound.  "Love."

Bellona closed her eyes and let out the breath she didn't realize she was holding.  

"Please Ulfric," she said, her voice almost inaudible over the softly crackling fire.  "Why now?"

He took a step forward, took her hand.

"You asked what was different, you asked what changed," he said.  He ran a finger over her knuckles.  "Nothing.  Nothing changed."

_Everything._

"But Ulfric-"

"No,  _nothing._ " He sighed.  "Everything."

For once, they agreed.  She looked at the floor.  She wasn't going to tell him.  She couldn't.

He squeezed her fingers, too hard.  "Please, Bellona."  Like always, she complied, looking up and meeting his eyes.  Green in the sunlight, they were dark and grey in the shadows.  " _For Ulfric_."

Her expression crumpled.  "But it's your wedding."

"It's only politics."  He shook his head.  "The High King, the Bear of Eastmarch."  He swallowed hard enough that she saw his throat move.  "Me.  I don't."  He straightened his shoulders.  "The Jagged Crown."  He gestured to the ancient crown, one she'd recovered for him.  "Rules are mine to make, my Stormblade, my sword."

He'd never called her that before.

Bellona took a step back.  The gentle man disappeared, replaced by a rigid figure.  She loved  _Ulfric_.  She only served the King.

"Ulfric."  Instead of letting go, he gripped her fingers tighter.  Her knuckles cracked.  "Please."

He seemed to consider for a moment and then he dropped her hand, threw it down like garbage.  He almost sneered at her.  He lifted one of her flower decorated braids, inspecting it before letting it drop back on to her shoulder.  She considered his face, tried to read it, but his expressions changed like the weather.  Finally, his face was neutral and he looked back at her.  

Ulfric blinked a few times, sleepy languid eyelids.  Her heart raced suddenly. That face she knew.  He reached out and put his sword calloused palm against her cheek.

"I only want to kiss you," he said.  "To keep me."

She couldn't say no to him.  Not to Ulfric.

Bellona let him take her into his arms and he pressed his mouth against hers.  His wiry beard smelled of mead and wedding flowers.   She felt her body try to bloom and in reply, the child in her belly fluttered like a bird in a cage.  

It was the first time she'd felt the child move.  She wanted to put his hand there, ask him if he wanted to feel his child live under her heart.

But she didn't know if it was his child.

In truth, it was only hers.

Ulfric whispered something unintelligible against her mouth.  It didn't matter what he said.  Bellona clung to him and wanted to run away at the same time.

"Tomorrow," he said, understandable at last.  "Tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow."  He sighed.  "We are moving the seat of the King to Windhelm, to the Palace of the Kings where it belongs.  Come with me."

She tried to meet his eyes but he was holding her too tightly.

"Hjerim is yours if you wish it.  And a suite at the Palace. Whatever you wish.  Then we can be together, whenever we desire and no one will be able to stop us."  It was almost out of character, these grand promises.  

"Ulfric," she said suddenly, unable to contain herself.  She hadn't told Sorex. She would never tell Ralof, gone home to Riverwood to see if he could find himself again, far away from Ulfric.  "I'm with child."

"By Talos."  His exclamation was breathy.  He took a hard step back.  "Is it my child?"

Bellona looked at the floor, suddenly cold without his arms around her.  "I don't know," she admitted.  "It could be."

She heard Ulfric take a breath.  "Then you need to stay here, or the Pale until the child comes.  Then, we will see."

Her head snapped up to look at him.  "What would it matter? The child is mine, either way."

He leaned against the wall.  The King spoke. "Until Elisif gives me an heir, it matters.  Whatever the moot claims about deeds and votes, blood matters."

_sos los pah. blood is all._

The dragon knew what would happen all along.  Fuck him.   _He knew._

Bellona swallowed and nodded.  "Yes, my King.  It does."

If only he knew the whole truth.

 

* * *

 

Bellona left without saying goodbye.  She couldn't bear to see Ulfric, to see his cold indifferent public face, the face that said her child might be a threat or a gift.  He had yet to decide.

_ulfric stormcloak and the dragonborn would have fine children, even if there is imperial blood.  (no one would have ever allowed a marriage, but a child is different, is blood, isn't politics) but what's that you say? the dragonborns that came before, septims all. nearly to a one?_

_she has blue eyes, just like the portraits of the last septim emperor.  doesn't her face remind you of the statues of talos?_

There'd be Thalmor blade for them all.  Dragonborn was one thing but a Septim heir, illegitimate or not with the blood of the High King of Skyrim?  The mer could never let that stand.  They would tear the world apart before that child lived.

As winter waned, her belly grew.  Sorex watched carefully, touching her belly with his fingers.  He didn't care who's seed put the child there, or so he said.  But he wasn't a fool.  He cared.  He was biding his time; Bellona could feel it.

It was the first throws of spring when her belly began to grip.  She'd been in a strange sort of dream, a spell of calm woven through her brain until everything was a foggy and out of focus.  It was as if she was living in the half tangible world of Sovengarde and she was dead, but didn't know it yet.  She let the world happen around her.  She was pale from not seeing the sun.

The pain woke her.  She screamed and bled and tore open and the child rushed forth into the Breton midwife's arms in a tide of fluid.  The woman patted at the tiny squirming bundle before lusty cries split the silence.  

No dragon shouts, at least.

She set the child on Bellona's bare belly, immediately latching on to her breast.  Even now, the tiny face was unmistakable.  

"It's a girl," the Breton said, but Bellona hardly heard her.

The child's skin was dark and her wisps of hair were curled around tiny ears; her little perfect precious face looked exactly like Sorex.  Bellona wept with relief.  

She handed Sorex his daughter and he cradled her, even as he dropped to his knees.  Tears ran down his face and disappeared into the thick hair of his beard.

"Mine?"

"Yours."

The sun moved in the sky.  The Thalmor would not come.  Elisif's child would be Ulfric's heir.   

Sorex cradled their daughter and he named her Aris,  _Dragon-root_.  He loved her.

Bellona tried not to think about Ulfric as Sorex climbed into the bed beside her and they cradled their daughter together.  She tried not to feel the pang of disappointment that followed her elation.  This was the best outcome.  This was the best.

_This was for the best._   

Sorex hummed a lullaby under his breath.  She adored him; he loved her.  He was so good and kind and even when he was gruff and self centered, he loved her with the heat of the sun.

She tried to love him.  She did love him.  It was a slow, gentle love, like waves lapping at the sand; the sun shining gentle warmth from above.

Far away, Ulfric was in Windhelm, waiting for news and wondering whether he would have to decide to elevate or kill his own child.  He was gruff and self centered; he was not kind.  He was not good even when he was strong and wild as the sea.  

The sea battered the shore and tore it to pieces.  Bellona loved Ulfric like the blazing sun, the burning sun, even if she could only circle behind him like one of the moons.   

Her heart broke carefully in two.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> drem yol lok -- peace, fire, sky; a dragon greeting  
> hin kiir lost dez -- your child has fate  
> sos los pah -- blood is all
> 
> Dovazhul Dragon Language translated here: https://www.thuum.org/translate.php


	8. Two Women

The wet nurse came and Bellona left.  

Sorex understood; he knew who he'd married.  Bellona was a warrior, a battlemage.  She was the Dragonborn; a Stormcloak.  She wasn't going to stay home and nurse a child until her breasts were flattened and her body was soft.  

Love didn't change who she was.

But love had changed her.  It was different and the same with Aris as it was with Lucia.  She loved her adopted daughter, but Aris came out of her and as she grew, had at least some of Bellona reflected in the shape of her face, the long bones in her hands, her lusty, bright cries.

She loved them both, but her body ached from Aris.  Her body was different, scarred in new ways.  Her limbs were still strong, but softer and rounded.  Her face seemed like someone else when it reflected on silver.  

Sorex held Aris in one arm and Lucia's hand with the other as he watched her go.  The tall Nord wet nurse stood behind him, young, fair and buxom with her own child on her hip.  She had enough milk for a dozen babies and perhaps, a soft place for Sorex to lay his his head when Bellona was gone.  

Bellona had insisted on it.

It helped alleviate the guilt.

She was going to Windhelm, to inspect Hjerim and see if it was a suitable home for them.  But mostly, she was going to see Ulfric and tell him he did not have a daughter, not from any seed he'd planted in her.  It had been months -- it was possible Elisif carried his child now.  They heard nothing here in the Pale.

The horse she rode belonged to her, and unlike that night so long ago when she murdered a horse in her rush to get to Ulfric's side, this time, she let the horse keep its head.  They moved slowly, stopping for rest along the way; a night sleeping in the cold under the stars, another in some backwoods inn where no one knew who she was.

The tavern was empty but for a veteran with those battle hollow eyes, drinking his pain away in the corner.  Bellona joined him and he recognized her invisible scars, even if he didn't know who she was.    She considered falling back into her old ways, taking the old man into her bed, but that never helped.  It never filled the hole in her heart, not even back then.  She felt alone, sad and still empty without her daughter in her belly.  She missed Sorex.  She pined for Ulfric but this man couldn't balm those wounds.  

She left him in the taproom to drink himself to death.  Wouldn't be tonight, or even tomorrow, but someday, they'd find him in a bank of snow, frozen and finally smiling again.

She wondered if the same fate awaited her. 

 

* * *

 

 

Bellona left at dawn and rode through the gates of Windhelm to silence.  She was well known, but now that the war was won, she was an after thought at best.  That was a comfort, knowing she wasn't forever going to be important.  If she was lucky, she'd fade out of everyone's minds entirely and have a chance at a normal life though she had little idea what a normal life was.  

She only wanted to see Ulfric, even as she was terrified to see the High King.

His voice rang out through the throne room, laughing and abrasive as he clapped Galmar on the shoulder.  Their words were garbled by the echo, making them unintelligible.  

Things were different and the same.  The Stormcloak banners hung high, but there were two chairs underneath, instead of one.  The High King and his Queen held court here, though the second throne was conspicuously empty.

Jorleif was in his customary place on the stairs and he saw Bellona first.  He got the King's attention.  Ulfric looked up, the blood draining from his face when he saw her.

There wasn't even a spark of joy in his expression.  

Bellona swallowed the bitter bile that rose in her throat and hid herself behind a wall of bravado.  She drew her sword with the distinctive ring of ebony and knelt before Ulfric, the blade naked across the palm of her hand.

"My King," she said.  "I return to your service, if you will have me."

There was a long silence.  A drop of cold sweat beaded up and rolled down Bellona's spine before he finally spoke.  It was the High King's voice, not Ulfric.

"Stormblade, " he said, a cold statement.  "Have you recovered?  Are you fit to serve?"

She drew the blade across her palm as she stood, slicing the soft skin and baptising the blade with her own blood before she sheathed it again.  "I am." Her voice matched his for coldness.  She wanted to mention her daughter, remove the questions she knew he was asking, but she didn't dare.

Being a woman warrior was one thing.  Being a mother was another.  Even here, perhaps especially here, the two rarely met.

"I will bleed for you," she offered, holding her palm out to him.

"Will you die, if it is asked?" The King was brusque. 

"Yes," she replied, not hesitating, though her heart flipped in her chest. A drop of blood rolled off her hand and splattered on the floor.  "I will die for Skyrim."

"Good, then I welcome you back to my service Stormblade."  He noticeably didn't refer to her as the Dragonborn.  Alduin was dead.  It didn't matter now.  It was Ulfric Stormcloak who needed to be the savior of Skyrim.

The Dragonborn could not.

"Jorleif," he directed, turning his face away from her.  "Will you find Stormblade a room in the castle for her stay?  I will have need of her, but other tasks must be addressed first."

"Yes, my Lord," he replied, always obedient.  Ulfric waved them away as if they were nothing more than an afterthought.  

Galmar opened his mouth before they'd gotten out of earshot.  

"Squeezing out a pup seemed to take a toll on that one; she's round as a milk cow," he commented.  "You sure she's fit to serve, whatever she says?"

Ulfric didn't defend her.  "If she isn't, the task I have for her will sort that out."

Her heart sank.  She wasn't sure what she expected, but being immediately sent away wasn't it.  Perhaps a ceremonial post?  Or even into the ranks of the other Stormcloak officers?  But he wasn't offering her a commission, but a suicide mission, whatever it might be.  

Jorleif led her through the empty corridors in uncomfortable silence.

The room her brought her to was well appointed, unexpectedly so.  It was certainly not as a grand as an ambassador might have, but the bed was large and covered in furs, the hearth large, the stained glass windows twice as tall as a man. 

"I'll have food sent up, and a bath," Jorleif offered.  Bellona only nodded and he let himself be dismissed, used to being ignored.

Bellona was not used to it.  She didn't like it one mote.  She wondered how he stood it, once she realized what she'd done and watched his retreating back.

_How easy it was to be selfish._

Bellona stared at the hearth in silence.   _How easy._

 

* * *

 

At sunset, they brought food, more than she could ever eat and a monstrosity of a copper bath it took four men to carry.  Wuunfurth's newest apprentice warmed the water with magic until it was steaming like the hot springs.

Ignoring the food, Bellona stripped out of her armor and slid under the water in the bath.  She closed her eyes and rested her hands on her belly, fingers grazing over the fine pink lines left in her skin from where her daughter changed her. 

Sorex told her they were beautiful.  She doubted Ulfric would feel the same, if he ever saw them.

The door opened without a knock.  Bellona bolted upright, hands instinctively reaching for her waist, the weapons clearly missing in her nudity.  Her entire upper body was out of the water, one hand on the rim of the bath, feet crouched under her.

Ulfric crossed his arms over his chest and smirked, his eyes roving over her body, likely noticing her softer, rounder limbs, her larger breasts.

_Round as a milk cow,_ as Galmar succinctly put it.

"This is not the greeting I expected," he said blandly.  

Bellona did the only thing she could and slid back down into the water.

"Sorry to disappoint, my Lord," she snapped, wondering immediately whether this was the High King or Ulfric standing there.

He chucked.  "I didn't say I was disappointed."

_Ulfric._

He crossed the room and pulled a chair from the table to the side of the bath, straddling it.  He splashed his fingers along the surface of the water.

"So," he said, looking at the ripples his hand made, watching them fade back into the still water.  He looked up and met her eyes.  "Was it a boy or a girl?"

Bellona swallowed.  "A girl," she said, almost not recognizing the high pitch of her own voice.  "And she's not yours."

She couldn't tell how he took the news because his face was carefully neutral.

"I'm not surprised," he said finally, sighing a little.  "I'd hoped-"  He paused for a moment, hesitated.  Ulfric shook his head.  "Elisif," he began.  "Isn't with child either."   

The pain in that sentence was apparent, even if it didn't show on his face.  Bellona took the chance and put her hand up through the water and touched his fingers.  He laced his through hers.

"I used to think it was good luck that I didn't have a legion of bastards behind me, after all the women I bedded after leaving High Hrothgar."  He snorted with disdain.  "But apparently I'm unable to plant crops."  

She squeezed his hand.  "You don't know that," she said.   "Elisif didn't have an heir with Torygg either."

His laugh was mirthless.  "That's because he so rarely fucked her, she almost had their marriage annulled.  She played the good widow well, but she's far more sly than she let on.  She took Bolgeir Bearclaw as her housecarl because he was her lover first."  

"And she just told you?" Bellona was more surprised by that than the revelation that Elisif had a lover.  She would have bet on Falk Firebeard, if she'd been asked.

Ulfric shrugged.  "You made an impression on her, more than you know.  She trusts me, far more than I trust her."  He ran his thumb along the side of her hand.  "I didn't tell her anything."  His green eyes burned into her.  "I only tell you."

Bellona's heart thudded in her chest.  " _Ulfric_ ," was all she could manage to say, getting up on her knees and taking his face between her damp hands.  

He leaned his face against her palm, closing his eyes.  "I missed you," he whispered.

"I thought you were done with me this time," she admitted.  "I heard what Galmar said."

"Galmar likes virgins and boys," he snapped.  "I like women. I lov-"  He stopped half way through a word and opened his eyes, looking at her again.  Her heart skipped a beat.  "I love you."

There he was, her Ulfric, the same mad man with the sad eyes who told her about the Greybeards and washed the dust off her back and made love to her in front of his fireplace.

There he was.  She thought she'd lost him to the King.

"By Mara, I swear," she said, suddenly gripped by the feelings he aroused in her.  "I swear I'll give you a child if you want me to."

Ulfric's smile was sad.  He leaned against her hands to kiss her on the corner of her mouth.  

"I'd certainly like to try," he said and then kissed her lips.  It was slow at first, soft and his arms slid around her damp shoulders.  His tongue was sly when it slipped into her mouth.

"Come in the tub with me," she said, tugging at his furs.  "And we'll plant seeds."

She was mad, truly.  She'd wanted nothing more than her child to not be Ulfric's when she slipped out of her body.  Aris's tiny face, the mirror of Sorex, flashed in her mind and she pushed it away.

Bellona was two women in one body; the Stormcloak warrior, the lover of brute Nord and the Dragonborn bastard of Septim blood, Imperial to her core.

Often, those women fought.  

Tonight, the Imperial slept and dreamt of her daughter.  But first, the Stormcloak made love and imagined a son.


End file.
